


soft like the satin of the night

by 8The_Great_Perhaps8



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Adorable Jester Lavorre, Extended Metaphors, Eye Color, F/F, Lesbian Beauregard (Critical Role), Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8The_Great_Perhaps8/pseuds/8The_Great_Perhaps8
Summary: When Beauregard looks at Jester, she's taken in by how soft she is.





	soft like the satin of the night

The thing about Jester that Beau notices the most is how _soft_ she is. Every part of her is soft in a way that Beau has never really had a chance to be.

Her skin is soft, silky smooth like cream. She rubs lotion on them every night, up to her elbows, even massages the lotion into what scant, light calluses she’s managed to develop on the soles of her feet. Every time she grabs Beau’s hand in her own, Beau marvels at the difference- her own hands are rough, worn hard by hours practicing with punching wooden dummies and doing push-ups and chin-ups and every other -up there is, gymnast’s chalk worn down into the lines of her palms and fingerprints. Jester’s hands, though, are so soft and so sweet that they feel unreal, like the kinds of hands that Beau’s had nightmares about, the hands that strike out against her, .hitting her and strangling her.

She could never have nightmares about Jester’s hands.

In fact, Jester’s hands have too often pulled Beau _out_ of her nightmares, soft hugs and pets and pats while Beau swallows back her frantic breathing around her arm that she bites into when she wakes in such a panic.

Beau daydreams about Jester’s hands a lot. About grabbing one of them, pulling Jester out of danger, and Jester staring at Beau in the kind of wonder that people look at heroes with, and then once the battle is done and the sun is setting, Jester takes Beau’s hands in both of hers and holds them, stares deep into Beau’s blue eyes with her own purple ones, the ones that are the color of amethyst and lilac and sunrise and the oldest wine in the Lionett store room all at once.

The thing about Jester’s eyes is that they are just as soft as her hands. They are every shade of purple that Beau has ever seen, and even some that she had never seen before she met Jester. Every shade dancing in Jester’s iris, glistening like a coral in a shallow sea and glimmering like a droplet of wine tracing its path down the outside of its bottle and glittering like an amethyst held up to the moonlight. It’s every brilliant and unforgettable purple and every daily purple, too, the purple of the first clover flower of spring and the purple of an artist haphazardly mixing reds and blues and the purple of an underripe blackberry, not yet ready for its world and not ready to be plucked from the bush but making its way anyways.

Beau could get lost in Jester’s eyes. Jester’s eyes are the kind of eyes that trap a girl, and Beau gets lost in them too often. She stares into Jester’s eyes and doesn’t even _think_ about anything, and sure maybe she usually _doesn’t_ seem to think about things, but the trouble is that Beau can’t make her brain shut the fuck up, and it’s always screaming ideas and plans and plots to her about how she could do _this_ or how she could fight _that_ , but Jester’s eyes just make her… slow down, sometimes. When they used to camp on the side of the road, the campfire roaring between them, the golds and reds and oranges of it flickering off the brilliance of Jester’s eyes, it made Beau slow down. She could take a breath, just breathe, not think about anything. Not think about how everyone in their group was going to leave her behind, not thinking about the nearby threats, not thinking about her past, not thinking about her future. Jester’s eyes made her stop. Made her slow down.

Beau would really like that, to just slow down with Jester. They have a house, now, a home base, but also so much they have to do, so many people that want them to do stuff.

Beau looks at Jester’s eyes, sometimes, so she can pretend that she _did_ catch a break. Jester makes her feel like she caught a break, sometimes, not just to rest but to feel safe. To feel like she isn’t such a complete and total fuck-up.

Jester does that with a lot of people. She’s probably the reason that everyone hasn’t fucked off to do stuff by themselves by now, because Jester makes people feel like they aren’t a fuck-up. Jester sees fuck-ups and tells them that they aren’t so fucked up, really, that they could actually be better if they tried, and why wouldn’t you want to try? All in that cute accent of hers, the Nicodranas clip turning her words into a polite request, when anyone else’s voice would make it sound like an order, like Caleb’s voice, or like a lecture, like Caduceus’ voice, or like a condemnation, like Yasha’s voice, or like an end-of-her-rope explosion, like Nott’s voice.

Or like an accusation, like Beau’s voice.

But Jester asks so sweet, her accent a polite request and her words an adorable little demand, and it makes people want to do better.

And Jester really believes it, too, which is why Beau could never pull that off, even if she mastered Jester’s accent and mannerisms and intonation and vocal tics. Because Beau doesn’t really believe in fuck-ups that are that bad, fuck-ups like her, but Jester does. Jester thinks that people really can be better. She really believes in Beau and Caleb and Nott and every other fuck-up they’ve met along the way.

Because Jester’s heart is soft, too, softer than her voice or her hands or her eyes. Jester really believes in people, and her heart really is that open, which Beau had only realized after the fourth or fifth time that Jester had healed her, even when she really hadn’t needed to.

Jester really actually does care about all the shitty people she knows, and what’s worse is that she actually doesn’t think that they’re shitty. She doesn’t think that Beau is a shithead, an irredeemable asshole, a waste of time and money and a child. Jester doesn’t think that Beau’s a waste of anything, of the gravity holding her to the ground or the breath it takes to say her name or the pregnancy and the birth that it took to make her.

Jester thinks she’s worthwhile, in more ways than anyone ever has. Even when Beau’s just calling herself an asshole, a dickhead, and Caleb and Fjord are awkwardly nodding along, like they’re in on the joke, Jester is gentle. She shakes her head and says _no_ , Beau, don’t say stuff like that, you know it’s not true, and besides you’re saying some really mean stuff about my best friend, and I don’t like people who bully my best friend, you know? so if you are being mean to my best friend, technically, then I get to hit you, even though you are my best friend, you know? So don’t be mean.

And it makes Beau feel soft, when Jester tells her to be nice to herself. It makes her feel like the little semi-noble girl she had been in the Empire, the little girl whose parents had wanted her to be sweet and demure and _soft_ , while they got to be cruel and loud and hard.

Beau’s not soft, though, never really has been. Human see, human do, right? She can pretend for a couple minutes, be Tracy long enough for some dumbass guard who’s probably barely old enough to even lift his sword to give her some information, but she can’t be soft. She’s the wood, the stone, the _impact_ , not Jester’s flower, clay, protection.

It’s nice when Jester’s soft to her, though.

Jester is kind of soft with Beau a lot, though, brushing Beau’s hair when it’s been a month without haircuts and no offense but Beau is still a little suspect of Yasha’s greatsword shaving method. It’s nice when Jester brushes Beau’s hair, kind of reminds her of being a kid, and then Jester braids the long bits and pins it into this weird elaborate style that looks like Beau’s usual haircut but better, which Beau agrees to without Jester even needing to pout her cute little pout and give Beau puppy-dog eyes.

And she tells Beau stories, calling every night that they sleep in the same room a sleepover as if it isn’t kind of expected at this point. She tells Beau stories about pirates, and about thieves, and about heroes, and even the gross romantic ones that Beau pretends to fall asleep to. All of Jester’s stories revolve around these two girls, the world’s bravest hero absolutely ever who is also really pretty and super amazing, in Jester’s words, who is charged with protecting a young noblewoman, who is also very very brave (even though she’s not _quite_ as brave as the hero) and who is very very handsome and super super incredible, and those are nice. Beau likes stories, especially when they’re not the kind she has to read, and Jester seems more than willing to never stop telling the stories.

And Jester likes to play games with Beau, fortune telling from folded paper that Jester scribbled all over, about a hundred billion different clapping games that Jester came up all by herself, learning drinking songs and _naughty_ songs and how to make flower crowns, which Jester makes pretty much whenever they’re in a field full of flowers and crowns Beau as her princess every single time.

Beau is a little bit in love with Jester, but she’s played this game before. She’s known girls like Jester, bright and bubbly and sweet and soft and kind and believing in Beau, but they all have a limit, and the limit is always when Beau tells them that she’s in love with them, awkwardly rubbing the back of her head, guilty in her confession, caught with her heart unguarded and unceremoniously punished for that, every single time. Beau’s heart has been broken a lot, through almost every girl in town until they started warning each other about what a freak Beau was.

The thing is, when Beau reaches Jester’s limit- because she always reaches the limit, can’t stand the guilt and anger of being near girls she’s in love with when they don’t even know and wouldn’t want her around if they did- she’s pretty sure that Jester won’t abandon her. Jester would be awkward, a little distant, no more sleepovers and no more stories and no more hair brushing and no more flower crowns just for Beau, but she wouldn’t leave. Jester’s _bonded_ with everyone, now, and she’s not going to leave just because Beau is too stupid to not fall in love with the perfect girl again and too stupid to keep it to herself and shut the fuck up about it, for once.

So when Beau actually manages to catch Jester alone in their Xhorhouse (which is a magnificently stupid name and Jester absolutely loves it), and tells her about it, awkwardly rubbing the back of her head and only half-guarding her heart, still too stupid to know that the heart is the most important thing to protect, it takes her quite a bit by surprise when instead of a soft oh and an awkward avoidant gaze and a shitty excuse to run somewhere else, Jester grabs Beau’s head in her hands and pulls her in for a kiss.

It’s quick, more a spark than a flame, and when Jester pulls away, she doesn’t let go of Beau’s head and keeps staring in Beau’s eyes.

“Beau,” she says, in her cute accent, her soft and sweet voice, high pitched and tinkling like a bell, “I don’t want to say this, because you are my best friend and I don’t like people who say bad things about my best friends and I am about to say a bad thing about my best friend, but you’re a moron!”

Beau blinks, and blinks again. Jester’s perfect purple eyes are watery, her glossy lips are pouting and determined, and her cheeks are going indigo and purple in her adorable tiefling blush.

“Uh,” Beau says, from the way Jester has her lips pushed into a clover shape, “what?”

“You’re so stupid, Beau, and I don’t mean that because you’re so nice and actually really smart and really really handsome and actually kind of perfect, but you are somehow really bad at noticing stuff!”

Jester shakes Beau’s head gently. “Why do you look so guilty? Don’t look so guilty! You aren’t the bad guy! You’re a really good guy! Girl! You’re one of the best girls I know, and I like you so much! A lot!”

“What?” Beau asks again. Her eyes are still stuck in Jester’s eyes, and her brain still isn’t working, still struck silent by the gorgeous purple, still watery and even overflowing a little bit.

And for the first time in Beau’s fucking memory, she would like for her brain to be un-shut up again, to be yelling and fussing and screaming ideas at her again, telling her _what the fuck she’s supposed to do because somehow the most perfect girl she’s ever met and confessed to has actually accepted her and isn’t walking away or telling her to stop being such a freak or telling her to be a normal girl._

Before Beau can restart her brain, Jester has pulled her in again and kissed her again. It’s longer, this time, and Jester presses her lips against Beau’s harder, and keeps Beau there, and when she pulls away from her, there’s a tear coasting down her cheek.

“Aw, shit,” Beau says, which is probably the worst thing she’s ever said after kissing a girl, but Jester is _crying_. In front of her, too. Jester doesn’t cry in front of _anyone_. She’s a shy crier, the kind of crier who only cries when she’s certain that she’s alone- at least, alone from anyone who isn’t her weird cloaked dad. That was something Jester had told her during one of their first sleepovers, a game of truth or dare, or never have I ever, or something like that.

“Shit, Jes, don’t cry. c’mon, it’s okay! I know I’m shitty and weird and a terrible friend, for telling you about it and kind of ruining everything, don’t cry, okay? Don’t cry, I’m sorry, I know how shitty I am, I’m really really sorry, don’t hate me, _shit_ , Jes, I’m so freakin’ sorry, I really-”

“Beau, you are so _stupid_!” Jester interrupts. “I’m not crying because I’m mad at you because you confessed to me, or because you love me, or because you think that I’m really cute and smart and interesting and awesome, which I totally am! I’m upset because you thought I would be upset about you- you, you know, _like_ -liking me! Which I’m not! I think you’re super awesome! And I like you too, dummy!”

“What?” Beau says, again. She blinks her eyes open wider. “What? Wait. What?”

“I like you, dummy!” Jester yells. “You’re really strong, and really handsome, and really smart, and already my best friend! I can’t imagine dating someone who isn’t you!”

Beau stares, and her brain is still absolutely silent, because Jester’s eyes are still staring into her soul, and they’re still bright purple and deep enough to drown in, and that is definitely what Beau feels like is happening, and Beau _still_ doesn’t know what to do say to Jester, and Jester _kissing_ her and actually not leaving.

“What?” She only just barely manages to croak out.

Jester sighs, rolling her eyes so hard that it’s almost enough for Beau to be able to comprehend what’s happening.

“I. Like. You. You’re so _stupid_ , Beau, I’m telling you how much I like you! I kissed you, like, twice! You’re really cute and really funny and I like you!”

“What?” Beau says, again, because she’s a _moron_ with an unhelpful brain that doesn’t seem to want to do jack shit to help her do anything.

Jester stares at Beau harder. “Beau. I. Want. To. Be. Your. Girl. Friend.”

“Girlfriend?” Beau repeats, eyes wide open. “You? I? Girlfriend?”

“ _Yes_ , dummy!” Jester says. “I like you! A lot! Like, _like_ -like! And you finally told me that _you_ like _me_ , too, and now you’re acting weird, like you forgot what you said to me!”

“Oh,” Beau says. “Oh, you like me?”

Jester finally takes her hands off of Beau’s head and plants them firmly on her hips. “ _Yes_. Okay?”

“Okay,” Beau agrees. “Really okay. That’s, that’s nice. I like that a lot. Almost as much as I like you.”

Jester sighs, rolls her eyes, and sticks out her tongue. “You’re so _silly_ , Beau. It was like I was talking to a brick wall, you know that?”

Beau laughs. “Uh, sorry. I, uh, didn’t expect a yes. Y’know?”

“Nope!” Jester says, taking her hands off her hips to play with her skirt. “I would be nervous, I guess, ‘cause in case of you saying no, but I would have expected a yes anyway. I’m pretty cute!”

Beau laughs again. “Yeah, you are.”

Jester just smiles up at her.

The thing about Jester, is that every part of her is really soft. Her skin is soft, uncalloused and massaged with lotion; her eyes are soft, every shade of purple mixed into one and deep enough and soft enough to fall into and get lost; her heart is soft, too, forgiving and kind and believing in fuck-ups.

Jester’s lips are really soft. They’re a darker blue than the rest of her skin, more storm-tossed wave than first blue sky of winter, and she colors them a darker purple in the morning, almost matching her eyes, and then glossing them so that they shine and glitter.

And underneath the gloss and the color, her lips are still soft, and somehow sweet, and if Beau didn’t already owe everything about herself that she feels good about to Jester’s soft heart, she would think that maybe her lips are Beau's favorite part of her.


End file.
